


In the Shire Reckoning: 1415

by Thuri



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-02
Updated: 2003-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry comes of age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shire Reckoning: 1415

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sunhawkaerie for the wonderful beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone. Takes place three years before the quest.

1415: Paladin Took becomes the Took and Thain.  
July 21: Meriadoc Brandybuck comes of age.

Merry smoothed the rich brocade of his new weskit, considering his reflection in the looking glass. 'Not bad,' he decided. 'At least growing up has some consolations.' It had surprised Merry to discover he liked dressing well, after years of destroying his clothing falling from trees and tearing about the countryside with first Frodo, then Pippin. But now he was older, was in fact coming of age that very day, he enjoyed the opportunities to wear the richer fabrics and styles of an adult. 'An adult. Don't think I look much like one, but that can't be helped.' He finger combed his curls in an ill fated attempt at order.

A knock at the door pulled his attention away from his reflection. "Yes?"

The door opened and a dark curly head was stuck through. "Still primping, are you?"

"Frodo! Come in," Merry exclaimed, pulling his older cousin into the room. "And to what do I owe the honour of you arriving so early? The party doesn't start for at least two more hours."

Frodo laughed, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Would you believe me if I told you it was to wish you well on your coming of age before we'd both had too much ale?"

Merry considered this. "If I didn't know you as well as I do, yes. But as it is," he shook his head slowly, "no, I don't think I would. You're here to get your present early, aren't you?"

Frodo grinned, looking remarkably like Pippin. Merry pushed that thought away. "You know me too well, Brandybuck. But, since you mention it, what did you get me?"

Merry laughed, but found the handsome pipe weed pouch he'd picked out for Frodo and handed it to him. "Happy birthday," he said.

"Thank you, Merry, this is beautiful. Much better than what I've got now." Frodo immediately sat down to fill his new pouch, and lit up his pipe while he was busy with it.

Merry smiled at the reaction, then turned back to the mirror, pulling on his new frock coat. He knew he'd take it off again soon enough once the dancing began, but felt that for now, it completed the outfit too well to be left out. "Did Sam come with you?" he asked, turning back to Frodo.

"No. I told him you'd invited him, but he muttered something about tomatoes and soil acidity and how he couldn't possibly be away from the garden right now." Frodo shook his head with a fond smile. "I honestly couldn't follow much of it, but he did reassure me several times that the Brandywine had nothing to do with it."

Merry laughed. "We'll get him across the river someday."

"I wouldn't bet on it. Sometimes I'm amazed he's able to take a bath," Frodo said darkly, then brightened. "Speaking of who's arrived, are Pippin and his family here yet?"

Merry nodded, fiddling with a button on his cuff. "Oh, yes. They arrived last night. And Uncle Paladin is truly enjoying being The Took and Thain everywhere he goes. I think Aunt Eglantine has wedding bells in mind." He shuddered.

"Between you and Vinca?" Frodo snorted. "She's fooling herself there. Have you talked to Pippin at all?" he asked mildly.

Merry gave him a sharp look, but his expression was innocent. "No. I haven't had a chance to. He was so tired last night he fell asleep during supper, and I was outside early this morning, helping set up. Why?"

"Just wondered. You've only seen him two or three times in the past few years. I thought the two of you would have been thick as thieves as soon as he got here." Frodo pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Maybe even literally. I imagine your mother hid the pies and locked the cellars as soon as she heard he was coming."

Merry grinned. "She doesn't have to anymore, Frodo. I'm respectable now."

Frodo laughed aloud. "You may be, though I'll only believe that when I see it. But Pip?" He shook his head. "How have the past three years been? I've only seen you a dozen times or so, myself."

Three years earlier, on Merry's thirtieth birthday, Saradoc Brandybuck had laid down the law. He told his son he was tired of seeing him run about the Shire making a nuisance of himself, and that it was "time Meriadoc learned what he would need to become Master of Buckland." Merry'd spent the next three years learning everything he could about the ordering of his large family, and the running of the lands and people attached to it.

Merry made a face as he sat across from Frodo and lit his own pipe. "It's been less boring than I feared," he replied honestly. "But mostly I'm just glad I'm done learning all the responsibilities, so now I can forget about them for a few years. Oh, I suppose it's good to know when to plant a field, how to shear a sheep, and the lore of the Old Forest, but . . . " He sighed. "I miss all the fun we used to have. You're too respectable for most of it now, and Pippin's found enough friends closer to his own age."

"I think you might be surprised." Frodo said.

Merry raised an eyebrow. "Frodo, it's been three years. And he's only twenty-five. I don't expect him to come running back to me." He sighed. "It's too bad, though. He was finally old enough to be a decent friend, and not just a tag-a-long."

"You mean he was old enough to help you nick stuff without getting caught," Frodo replied. "And still young enough to be willing to do it if his perfect cousin asked him to."

Merry opened his mouth to retort, but had to laugh instead. He sobered quickly. "I don't just mean that, Frodo. And well you know it."

"I know," Frodo said softly, acknowledging everything that lay between Merry and Pippin with his simple reply. "What are you giving him, anyway?"

Merry shrugged. "A scarf. The last time he visited it was winter and he was complaining about his neck being cold. How's he been, Frodo? Really?"

"He's missed you," Frodo answered, looking past Merry and out the window. "Moped around for months after your father started keeping you home. I think he's fine, now, but I've never seen him quite as excited as when he told me he'd been invited to your party."

Merry blushed. "You're joking, right?"

"No. He's been counting the days. Driving Sam crazy, too, the way he's been running about the place." Seeing Merry's questioning look, he shrugged. "He's been staying at Bag End. I think his father is happy to have him out from underfoot while he gets used to being Thain and all."

"You talk about him like he's still in his teens," Merry said.

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Fine. You can be stuck alone with him for a week and we'll see what it does to your nerves."

Merry's smile seemed to suggest he'd look forward to it.

The conversation turned general, Merry asking about the various goings on in Hobbiton, and Frodo doing his best to reply. He talked animatedly about a new translation he was doing, and promised to let Merry borrow it when he was done. They gradually grew silent, simply smoking and thinking. Merry's mind was far away when he realized his cousin had asked him something. "What?"

"I said, what do you plan to do after your birthday? Your father can't keep you here anymore."

"I know." Merry tapped his pipe stem against his bottom lip thoughtfully. "But other than knowing I want to get away for a while, I hadn't really thought about it. Why?"

"I thought you might like to visit Bag End. You know I knock around in the big old place by myself, and I'm sure Sam would be happy to see you again. And Pippin will be there for at least the rest of the summer," he added, as an afterthought.

The thought of spending months away from the dusty accounts of Buckland, enjoying freedom from responsibility, was very tempting. Not to mention the additional lure of the young Took.

"I think I'll take you up on that," Merry said, stretching. "It sounds wonderful, after this. And my father told me he didn't mind," he said with a grin.

"Oh?"

"He said he'd forced me to learn enough to get by now, because he knew once I was of age there would be no keeping me home again."

Frodo laughed. "He knows you very well."

"He is my father. So I'll be quite happy to join you in Hobbiton, Cousin, as long as you're willing to stand me."

Frodo shook his head, knocking the charred weed from his pipe. "I've just invited Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took to be my house guests indefinitely. I think the rumors are true, I am as crazy as Bilbo."

Merry grinned. "More so. He tried to keep us separated, if you'll remember."

Remembering the disaster Merry had gotten the eleven-year-old Pippin into at his own coming of age party, Frodo laughed aloud. "He was probably right, too. Only the two of you working together could have pulled off the firework fiasco. But as I've no explosives in the house, I think I'll risk it."

"Then it's settled. I'll go back with you to Bag End as soon as all this party business is over." He glanced at the clock. "We'd best get a move on. My father will be wondering where I've got to."

 

Parties given by the Master of Buckland were never small affairs. Hobbits from all across the Shire and even as far as Bree and Combe were often invited. It was not uncommon for the inhabitants of Brandy Hall to have to double, or even triple up to provide enough beds for all the guests. But this party seemed likely to surpass all others, saving only Bilbo Baggins' 111th birthday party, which of course could never be equaled. There were, after all, no fireworks at this one. The whole of the top of Buck Hill was laid out with tents and tables. A dance floor was set up near the musicians' stage, and many entertainments were planned. For this party was in honour of the coming of age of the only child of the Master. And Saradoc meant for it to be remembered.

Merry tried to keep this firmly in mind and a smile on his face as he stood in the receiving line, shaking the hand of every guest as they arrived. Uncles, aunts, cousins, and various others poured through in a seemingly endless stream. The uncles all congratulated him on becoming an adult, and said how nice it was he'd settled down and given up his foolish ways. The aunts, to the last, had tears in their eyes, and said many times how he'd grown so fast, and soon he'd have children of his own. The cousins and others were another matter. Most seemed to be blushing lasses near his own age, lasses he'd known all his life, who suddenly were shy and not inclined to speak to him, pushed forward by their parents. He had a good idea of why they were being introduced to him as if he'd never met them before, but kept the pretense of being terribly interested in their stammering statements all the same.

Merry made no specific reply to any of it, just thanking them and handing over a present to each. His mother had treated the event of his birthday as something of a spring cleaning for the hall, despite the July heat. She had gathered all the mathoms she could find to give away. She'd even encouraged Saradoc to invite more hobbits than he'd planned, so she could be rid of a few more things. "Let them figure out where to put them!" she'd said. "I dare say half will find their way back within the year, anyway, but at least I'll have order ‘til then." Saradoc, knowing how well Esmeralda liked things tidy, had complied.

So Merry smiled and nodded and gave away gifts from the stack beside him until his cheeks ached and he thought his head would fall off. He was both hungry and thirsty, but knew he'd be lucky to get much to eat or drink. As the host, he'd be in demand the entire time. He caught a glimpse of Frodo out of the corner of one eye, as he listened to yet another introduction with half an ear. His cousin was sitting in a corner with nearly a dozen children gathered around him. Frodo had inherited Bilbo's talent for telling stories, and the hobbit children loved him for it. Merry could make out only a few words, but it sounded to him like Frodo was telling the story of the dwarves' arrival at Bag End, complete with impressions and performances of the songs they'd sung. He felt a sudden desire to sit and listen to the tale again himself, and only dragged his attention back to the line with an effort.

"Why, Merry Brandybuck, I don't believe you've heard a word I've said!" came the amused comment from the plump brunette in front of him. Her dark green eyes twinkled up at him. "Should I repeat myself?"

He grinned, relieved. "That all depends, Estella. Would it be any more interesting the second time?" Estella Bolger, the younger sister of Fatty, was an old friend.

She followed the direction of his gaze over to Frodo, who had all the children laughing. "Not more interesting than that, no. I was just saying happy birthday. Save a dance for me?"

"Several. You can rescue me from the rest." He gave a nod to a group of giggling lasses. "I'm afraid I'll step on their toes or something."

She laughed again, and took the package he handed her, disappearing into the crowd. Merry turned back to the line with a purely internal sigh, hoping the end would come soon.

Eventually, it did. All the guests arrived, were presented with their gifts, and made their way to the tables for food and drink. Merry followed them, seating himself at the head table, next to his father.

"Done greeting the guests, then?" Saradoc asked, setting down his mug.

"Yes," Merry replied, filling a mug of his own from a nearby pitcher. He took a deep drink. "And I've been told how fast I've grown, how much I've changed, and how soon I'll be married more times than I can count."

Saradoc laughed. "Poor lad! Just think of it this way, you'll only come of age once."

Merry muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Thank Eru." He applied himself to the food in front of him, fully aware that he would be wanted somewhere else soon enough.

"While you're not busy with anyone else," Saradoc said, "there were a few things I wanted to tell you."

Merry set down a chicken leg. "Yes, Da?"

"I know there are other ways you would have liked to spend these past months, but you've never complained. Despite the exploits of your youth, which I won't go into, you have turned out to be everything your mother and I could have hoped for. I know it hasn't always been easy being our only child, Merry. Your mother and I want you to know that we love you, are proud of you, and want you to be happy, as well." He fixed Merry with a sharp look from his grey eyes. "So don't pay much mind to the aunties trying to marry you off. You'll not have to take a wife until you need an heir."

Merry found he was blushing, and did not know how to respond. "I'm not sure I understand," he said carefully, trying to keep his voice level.

Saradoc seemed a bit uncomfortable himself, but pressed on. "Well, Merry, you and I both know you've no wish to wed a lass. You'll have to, eventually, of course, as you'll need an heir." He shifted in his seat. "And I'm sorry for it. If we'd been blessed with more children . . . But your mother and I won't put any pressure on you to choose one, for now. So if there's a lad . . . "

Merry decided he'd never been as embarrassed before, and never loved his gruff old father more. "Da," he said softly, "I don't know what to say. Except that I'm one of the luckiest hobbits in the Shire. Thank you."

"No thanks needed. But it is appreciated." Saradoc cleared his throat, and changed the subject with obvious relief. "So, how soon are you running off? I don't expect we'll see much of you now."

"Frodo's invited me to Bag End. Indefinitely. I'll go to Hobbiton with him after the party is over and cleaned up. I expect we'll leave within the week." Merry replied, grateful for the less personal topic.

"I'll miss you, Merry. But you deserve the vacation. Besides, I've taught you nearly all you need to know to run the Hall. Only way you'll learn more is to do it, and with luck that won't happen for many, many years. It's time you had some fun again." He expression turned serious. "Just stay out of orchards and fields that don't belong to you."

Merry grinned. "Of course, Da."

"Why am I not reassured?" Saradoc shook his head. "Go and dance, lad. The sooner you've given every lass a turn around the floor, the sooner you'll be done with it, aye?"

With a parting smile for his father, Merry did what he was told. He approached the dance floor with his head in a whirl over all he'd just heard, but it was pushed out of his mind by the hordes of lasses waiting for him. He danced more dances then he could count, all with lasses he barely knew, before begging off for a drink.

It wasn't until he'd hidden himself in a small stand of trees at the edge of the field with a mug of beer that he realized he hadn't seen Pippin all evening. He hadn't been in the line of arriving guests. 'Muck,' Merry thought, setting down the ale untouched. 'He's avoiding me.'

He was startled out of his thoughts by Frodo ducking into the grove with him. "So this is where you're hiding," his cousin said with a grin. "You do know you're the host of this party, don't you? People are wondering where you've gone."

Merry gave him a half-hearted smile. "I just needed to get away for a few minutes. How'd you find me, anyway?"

Frodo sat on a large tree root. "I saw you heading this way. But there are so many lads and lasses sneaking off into the trees to be together that I'd guess anyone else would think you were meeting up with one of them."

He raised an eyebrow. "One which?"

"Whichever," Frodo replied with a wink. "But most of them expect you to pick a wife tonight."

Merry shuddered. "You of all people know that's the last thing I plan."

"Ah, but what does your mother plan? If she's got marriage on the mind, you don't stand a chance." Frodo's tone was half serious.

"That's actually not a problem." Merry told Frodo what his father had said.

"Well that's good news." He smiled. "Have you told Pippin yet?"

Merry nearly spit his mouthful of ale across the clearing. "Have I what?"

Frodo wiped foam from his weskit with an expression of distaste. "There was no need for that. I only thought you might have told Pippin you're available to him now."

"I'd have to see him to tell him, wouldn't I? And I've no hint he'd care anyway." Merry shook his head.

"What do you mean, you'd have to see him? He's here tonight."

"And he's avoiding me. I've not laid eyes on him since last night at supper, when he didn't say a word to me." Merry shrugged, keeping his expression blank, since trying for cheerful was beyond him. "He's likely off with his new friends. With that Bracegridle lass Vinca wrote about. I told you he would never wait for me, Frodo."

"Why are you so sure he's with her?" Frodo asked, an inscrutable look on his face. "Does he know you're waiting for him, Merry? Have you ever told him how you feel?"

Merry opened his mouth, then closed it again abruptly. "Not exactly," he said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "I wanted to tell him in person, not in a letter. And I've not seen him long enough in years."

"And you never told him before?"

"He was too young, Frodo! I'm no monster. I wasn't going to force myself on a lad just out of his teens simply because he would've agreed to it." Merry shook his head again. "You said it yourself, this afternoon. Three years ago he still followed me everywhere. We were still together every day and he'd do anything I asked him to, just because it was me asking. I didn't want him to agree to love me out of hero worship. I wanted . . . " He paused. "I'm not sure what I wanted," he admitted. "But something special at least. I have to wait until he grows up. Until he's old enough to know what he wants. Even if it means I'll never . . . " he trailed off, feeling helpless.

Frodo nodded. "Was your first time special?" he asked, inspecting his bitten down nails.

He snorted. "You should know, you were there."

"That wasn't what I asked," Frodo replied with a grin.

Merry returned the smile. "Yes, it was."

"And did you agree to it out of hero worship? Because you'd do anything your older cousin asked?" Frodo's tone was level, but Merry was surprised to see pain in his eyes. He suddenly realized how his outburst must have sounded.

"Of course not," he said firmly. "It wasn't hero worship, I wanted you. I'll admit I wasn't in love with you, Frodo, but you weren't in love with me, either. And I do care about you, deeply." He squeezed Frodo's hand, then felt a smile stretch across his face. "Besides, I had to convince you, remember? How could you think I was only agreeing, when you didn't want to in the first place?"

Frodo let out the breath he was holding in a whoosh. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But with what you said earlier . . . You know I worry too much, Merry."

"I do. It's where I get it from." He was silent for a few moments, listening to the muffled sounds of the party goers from the other side of the trees. The music and laughter seemed very far away. "Why do you ask?" he said finally.

Frodo shrugged. "You were twenty-five. And you certainly knew what you wanted. Pippin's twenty-five now. And he knows what he wants, too."

"What if it isn't me?" Merry asked softly. "He doesn't seem to want me around, Frodo. I wish I could believe you, but . . . "

"I understand," Frodo said, squeezing his shoulder. "Really I do. But you were right about Sam when I thought there was no chance. So maybe I'm right about Pip?"

Merry smiled. "If you're that sure, I'll keep some hope. Thank you, Frodo. You've been comforting me in one way or another all of my life. I don't know what I can do to repay you."

"Don't bother. You'd do the same for me," Frodo stood and stretched. "Now get back to your party. The lasses are pining for you. Estella Bolger asked me twice where you'd disappeared to. You'd better watch out for her, Merry, if you want to stay single."

To Frodo's surprise, Merry threw back his head and laughed. "I've nothing to fear from Estella, Frodo. Nor does any lad here. The lasses, now . . . "

Frodo's eyes widened. "Really? How do you know?"

Merry grinned again, standing up himself. "Oh she and Fatty spend a lot of time here, and I've gotten to know her fairly well. Keeping each other company tends to keep all our various aunts fooled. I thought I was leading her on for time, but then she felt she was doing the same. We both confessed."

"I just hope it doesn't come back to haunt you. Or her. But the rest of the lasses still want you back. And speaking of Fatty, he was proposing some sort of drinking game when last I saw him. He seemed to think you should join in."

"All right, then, Cousin Frodo. Lead the way back to my party." Merry bowed with a flourish.

"Oh, no," Frodo said. "We go back separately. I don't want Sam hearing I was alone in the woods with you." He laughed as Merry swatted his rump, then made his way out of the small clearing. Merry followed a few moments later, more cheered than when he'd entered.

 

The party lasted well into the night. Feasting and drinking continued until after midnight, when the first guests began to trickle away. Just as he'd greeted them all, Merry now said farewell. He was truly grateful that many were staying in Brandy Hall, so those farewells could be postponed until the next day. And many left the party only with the help of their friends or a wheelbarrow, needing no good-byes from him. Still, it was so late it was early when he finally finished and staggered toward the Hall and his own bed. Frodo accompanied him as far as the door to his bedroom, but, to his surprise, didn't come in. "Aren't you rooming with me?" Merry asked, sure that was what he'd been told.

Frodo shook his head. "That was the plan, but your mother said it wasn't right for you to have to share your room on your birthday. So you have it to yourself, and I'm stuck on the couch in Pippin's room. Remember that, when you slip easily to sleep and I have to listen to his snoring."

Yawning hugely, Merry waved a hand in agreement. "I'll do that. See you tomorrow."

"You mean later today. Good night."

Merry entered his room, and lit the oil lamp. He shucked off his coat and weskit, pleased to see he'd managed to avoid both spilling and being spilled on, despite the amount of food and ale he'd consumed. He hung them both up, his mind firmly on sleep. It wasn't until he was removing his braces and opened the top drawer of his dresser to put them away that he found the scarf. Pippin's birthday scarf.

He picked it up, fingering the soft wool. Still holding it loosely in one hand, he shut the dresser and slumped onto the couch, braces forgotten. He slid the gray wool through his fingers, remembering the sheep it had come from. He'd been given a portion of the best lamb's fleece of the year, for his part in the shearing that spring. The muted gray and brown tones of the natural fleece had been beautiful. He'd given it to his mum and asked her for a scarf from it. He smiled, remembering when she'd given it to him.

"Here you are, Merry. I left most of the wool grey, to match your eyes. And I dyed the rest of the yarn with colours that reminded me of you. It should look right handsome on you, love." She'd smiled, and left him gaping. He'd only realized then that he hadn't told her the scarf was a gift for Pippin. Pippin, who was always too cold, being thin for a hobbit despite the amount of food he ate. Pippin, who complained about the scratchiness of every woolen item he owned. Pippin, who was the reason Merry had picked the softest fleece he could, a fleece that would caress even as it warmed.

He sat turning the scarf over and over in his hands, lightly tracing the rich burgundy, green and gold patterns. 'When did I first start falling in love with him?' he wondered to himself. 'When was it that he stopped being my tag-a-long baby cousin and turned into my love?' He couldn't pinpoint when it had started. When the affection he'd always felt had deepened into something more. But he did know the exact moment he'd been sure of it. Just over three years ago, the day before his thirtieth birthday.

He and Pippin had been sprawled beneath an apple tree, planning which orchard they'd raid first that fall. Merry had said that Buckland's were best, while Pippin was holding out for Tuckborourgh.

"We Tooks grow better apples than any other in the Shire, and you know it, Merry," Pippin had said indignantly.

"I know no such thing, Imp," Merry had replied, tugging on Pippin's hair. "Brandybuck apples are much sweeter. And you've never turned them down before."

Pippin considered this. "But we're in Tuckborourgh," he said finally. "So they're better, ‘cause they're closer."

Merry had laughed, unable to argue with this logic. "They're also green, Pip. You remember what happened the last time you ate green apples. I thought you'd never leave the privy."

Pippin made a face. "That was ages ago," he'd said dismissively, though it had in fact only been the year before. "And we'll still be here when they are ripe. You're not going anywhere."

"I give in, Pippin. We'll raid your father's orchard, not mine."

Pippin had been delighted in his win. "See, Merry," he'd said with a grin. "You don't always know better."

"Yes I do," Merry had replied.

"Why?"

"Because I'm older."

"So? What does that matter?"

"It means I've done more stuff than you have."

Pippin looked outraged. "What kind of stuff, Merry? I don't want you doing anything without me!"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't do anything without you, anymore, Pip. But there are some things you're still too young for."

Pippin's big green eyes had widened. "Oh," he said delightedly, "you mean kissing. I'm not too young for that!"

Merry sighed. "There's more to it than kissing, Pip."

Pippin considered this, munching on the remains of their picnic. "All right," he said finally. "But you're not too young. Have you kissed many people? Really kissed?"

Merry smiled at his expression, so earnest and interested. "Lads or lasses?"

"Both," Pippin replied, wiggling against him.

"One lass. Three lads."

"Who?"

"That, Pippin Took, is none of your business." Merry told him sternly.

"Fine." Pippin looked thoughtful. "Which do you like better, Merry? The lads or lasses, I mean?"

"Well, Pip, I only kissed one lass. And three lads. So which do you think?"

"Lads." Pippin said this so firmly that Merry'd laughed.

"You're right." He rolled on his side, facing the younger hobbit. "What about you? Have you kissed anyone? Since you say you're old enough for it."

"Two lasses," Pippin admitted, his eyes darting up to see Merry's reaction, his face only a few inches away.

"At your age? I am impressed. Any lads?"

"Well . . . " Pippin said slowly. He licked his lips, then moved too suddenly for Merry to stop him.

Warm, slightly sticky lips touched his own with light pressure. Surprised, Merry felt his mouth open under Pippin's tongue. The Took traced his lips lightly, before diving in and tasting him. Merry gradually got over the shock and kissed him back. It lasted for some time, as they both explored each other deeply. Pippin tasted of apples.

Finally they broke apart for air. "One lad," Pippin managed eventually, an incredulous smile on his face as he looked at Merry. "And I definitely liked him better."

"Are you sure? You don't want to test it again?"

They had, several times. But Merry managed to remember that Pippin was only twenty-two, and had stopped with kissing. They hadn't spoken of what it meant, being too pleased in the simple joy of it. So when Merry was pulled out of bed by his uncle Paladin in the morning and sent home to learn his duties as the heir of Brandy Hall, he hadn't known where things stood between them. They'd written, of course, but the kisses in the apple orchard were never mentioned again. He wondered now if Pippin even remembered them. 'It's been three years. He's turned out so handsome, I'm sure he's kissed many others since.' No doubt that's why he's avoiding me. He's found someone, and doesn't want to be reminded.' He sighed. 'I'm a fool.' He brought the scarf up to his cheek, meaning only to feel the softness against his skin. Instead he ended up wiping away tears he hadn't realized he'd shed.

It was as he sat there, completely drained, that a knock sounded at the door. He groaned internally. 'It's probably some relative who's thought of advice I can't live without. Well I'm in bed as far as they're concerned. I don't have to answer.'

The knock was repeated, but it sounded too timid to be a drunken uncle. The soft voice the called his name confirmed it. "Merry? Are you awake?"

It was Pippin.

 

Merry found himself holding the door open, with no clear memory of getting off the sofa or of crossing the floor. And there was Pippin, clad only in his nightshirt with a blanket wrapped around him. "Can I come in?" he asked, not looking at Merry.

"Of course," he replied, stepping back and letting Pippin past him.

Pippin walked in and sat in the armchair without saying a word. Merry shut the door, and returned to his place on the sofa. A few moments of uncomfortable silence went by. Finally it was too much, and Merry said the first thing that came to mind. "I expect you're here for your present, then?" he asked, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "Since you didn't get it at the party, I mean."

Pippin jumped, then seemed to accept the diversion gladly. "Aye, that's it. What'd you get me?" There was genuine interest in his tone, though Merry would swear that Pippin hadn't been thinking of gifts at all when he'd knocked.

He handed over the scarf. "It's made from the softest lamb fleece this year, so I don't think it will be too scratchy for you. And I'm sorry about the colours. My mum thought it was for me when I asked her to make it."

Pippin's eyes lit up as he caressed the knit fabric. "Oh, Merry, it's wonderful. Not scratchy at all. And I don't mind about the colours. They remind me of you." He put it on immediately. "How did you ever get the softest lamb fleece? I thought only the shearers got a portion of it."

Merry realized he was blushing. "They do."

Pippin turned amazed eyes on him. "You sheared sheep? Really? Why?"

"Part of the ‘duties of the Master of Buckland' my Da said." Merry replied with a shrug. "It's just one of the many things I didn't know I'd have to learn about."

Pippin looked up from running his fingers through the fringe at the end of the scarf. "What else did you learn, Merry?"

"How much time have you got?" Merry countered. "It's been three years of solid study, Imp. I don't think I could even begin to tell you."

A wistful smile crossed Pippin's face. "I've missed that," he said softly.

"Missed what?"

"You getting exasperated and calling me Imp in that tone," he replied.

"Oh." Merry was at a loss. He didn't really know what was going on, but tried to silence the inner voice that wanted an explanation. Pippin was talking to him, and that was enough. "I've missed you, too."

Pippin blushed, dropping his gaze to the scarf again. "So you sheared the sheep. Don't tell me you spun and dyed the yarn, too."

"No, Pip, my mum did. I told you that. Spinning was one of the few things I didn't have to learn." Merry sighed, and retrieved his pipe from his jacket pocket. He packed the pipe weed slowly, waiting for Pippin to get to his reason for being there. But by the time the readied pipe rested in his hands, Pippin still hadn't said a word. "Pippin?"

"Hmm?" Pippin replied sleepily, from the nest he'd made of blanket and chair.

"Was there another reason you came in here?" Merry was afraid he was spoiling the moment, but badly wanted to know.

Pippin nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Yes. Frodo told me I should. He said I snored too much and you wouldn't mind sharing your room with me. Then he tossed me into the hall and locked the door."

Merry felt a moment's deep gratitude toward his older cousin. "You're welcome here, of course. Although I think I could get Frodo to let you back in, if you want."

Cinnamon coloured curls bounced as Pippin shook his head. "That's all right. I wanted to talk to you, anyway. Before you come and stay at Bag End."

Relieved, but still wary, Merry lit his pipe. For a few moments he was busy tamping down the lit weed and getting an even burn. It should have given him time to think of his reply. Unfortunately, he was still at a loss. "What about?"

It occurred to Merry that he'd never seen that particular look of annoyance on Pippin's face before, though Pip had often seen it on his. "The weather this time of year, Meriadoc. What the muck do you think?"

"Somehow I doubt it's which apple orchard we should raid first," Merry said softly.

He couldn't read the look on Pippin's face. "Then you do remember?" he asked.

"Of course. But I didn't think you would. It was a long time ago." He fought desperately to keep his tone even.

"How could I possibly forget?" Pippin demanded, a note of anger in his voice. "We kissed, Merry."

"Aye, I know that." So Pippin did remember, and that was where the problem lay. Frodo had been wrong. Merry sighed. He paused, then steeled himself for what he had to do. "I'm sorry if I . . . I'm sorry." He looked down at his hands, not wanting Pippin to see the tears in his eyes.

"Wh-what? Why are you sorry? I don't understand, Merry." Pippin's voice was confused, and Merry risked a glance at his face. He looked bewildered.

"I'm sorry if you regret kissing me," Merry said very softly.

A sudden look of comprehension struck Pippin's face, and, to Merry's surprise, he laughed aloud. "Silly Merry. You think I don't want you, don't you?" At Merry's helpless nod, he smiled again, though his bottom lip trembled. "Well, then we're even. Because I thought you didn't want me," Pippin said. "I've been leaving you alone because I thought that's what you wanted. You disappeared right after . . . I thought I'd done something wrong." He sniffed.

"Oh, Pip . . . " Merry looked up to see him wiping tears from his face. "I wrote you a note before I left. And didn't your father tell you why I was gone?"

He gave a watery chuckle. "Well, yes, but I didn't believe him. At least not until Frodo told me, too. But . . . " He heaved a great sigh. "I didn't believe even Frodo when he told me you loved me."

A great weight lifted off Merry's chest, and he felt laughter bubbling up in his throat. "Then we are even. I didn't believe him, either. But it seems he was right, on both counts."

Shining green eyes met grey. "Then you do love me?" Pippin practically whispered. "Really?"

Merry felt his heart squeeze in his chest at the look in Pippin's eyes. "Yes, Impling, I do. I love you." He repeated the words just to hear himself say them aloud.

Merry barely had time to set down his pipe before his arms were full of a laughing Took. "Oh, Merry, I love you, too!" Their lips met, and it was infinitely sweeter than the first time. But Pippin still tasted of apples.


End file.
